


Rumour has it

by Britishchick



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Merlin, Dark, F/M, M/M, Magic Revealed, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britishchick/pseuds/Britishchick
Summary: AU starting after season 4.Dragoon the Great has killed two guards of Camelot and Arthur has finally caught him.Merlin is dealing with guilt from murdering innocents while Arthur is seeking vengeance for his father's death.Meanwhile, Morgana has her own plans in bringing down the man destined to be her doom.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Wow, it's been a long time. Since the last time I seriously posted here, I've gone to university and am now moving onto my Masters. So, hopefully my writing has matured and me along with it. 
> 
> Before you start the story, I want to ask a quick favour. I know most authors ask for kudos and comments (and yes please feel free to leave those) but, personally, I'd like your writing advice. No author is perfect and I want you to let me know my flaws! Drop advice in comments. No matter how much of a newbie writer you are, I'm sure you will have some great advice! 
> 
> So, here is my brand new and shiney story. Hold on to your hats and I mean it. It's going to get dark. Season 5 dark. Merlin's going to be struggling, Arthur's going to be struggling, and somehow they fall in love? We shall see. Be ready for long character development, torturous magic reveals, and lots and lots of yearning.

Waren clutched his dagger tightly. Facing him was a suspicious stack of barrels. Illuminated by moonlight from the blood moon, the barrels shadows extended out like long fingers hiding the cobblestones of Tanner's street from sight. It was the perfect hiding spot to watch Camelot’s Eastern Gate. The wall behind the barrels was so heavily shadowed that Waren could barely make out anything beyond the light of the lantern. A bead of sweat trickled down his arm. There could be anything there, watching him. Waren looked longingly at the guard, Gamel, who lay snoring softly beside him. If only he was awake. 

Sweat was making his hand slippery and his dagger slithered out of his hand and struck the floor. He hadn't realised his hands had gotten so clammy. Wiping his hand on the bottom of his robe, he made to get his dagger. Stooping down, he stopped. The shadows from the barrel had moved. The shadow was now wider and a little bit crooked on one side - almost humanoid, Waren thought of the evil sorcerer his Ma had told him about in bedtime stories and shivered. He mentally shook himself. He was already spooked from the blood moon so his mind was probably just conjuring up scary scenarios. He was guarding the Eastern Gate of Camelot. There was nothing here, no reason for anyone to be loitering around. There was surely a reasonable explanation for the shadow’s shape. 

A hushed sound like a whispered spell echoed down the street and goosebumps trickled down his bare arms. His dagger skittered away from his outstretched hand, across the cobblestones and landed with a clunk deep in the shadows of one of the alleyways, way out of reach. Waren’s chest felt tight. Made out of solid steel, the dagger was pretty hefty and it shouldn’t move so far with just a gust of wind. He looked around. The shadowed alleyways remained as dark as ever but nothing seemed to be moving in their depths, the barrels before him lay innocently standing, Gamel was still sleeping peacefully. Waren eyed the dagger lying between two cobblestones just out of reach of the lantern’s light. Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the Eastern gate and began walking one foot in front of the other, not moving his eyes away from the dagger. 

Behind him, a soft pad echoed down Tanners street. Then another and another moving quickly through the crossroads towards the Eastern Gate. Like the sound of a heel in leather soles striking the ground repeatedly. Waren’s arms prickled. Something was behind him. 

Before too long, Waren’s hands closed around the hilt of his dagger. Putting his shoulders back, he whirled around and pointed the dagger towards the sound. 

He expected to see a disfigured sorcerer with a face contorted around massive fangs, a hooded figure with glowing orange eyes, or even the glowing skull of a dorocha. He was confronted with - nothing. Nobody was there except for Gamel still slumbered at his post besides a shut gate. Waren frowned. Had he imagined the sounds? It was the blood moon afterall. It was said to drive people insane. 

Holding his dagger out, hand shaking ever so slightly, Waren tiptoed back towards the gate. The large gate stood heavy and unmoving in front of him, the bars as thick as a human fist. It would take incredible strength to move a gate like this. Waren peeked through. The area behind the Eastern gate was dark from the surrounding cover of trees but he could faintly make out the overgrown path that led directly into the centre of the woods. He couldn’t see any sign of a sorcerer or a spirit. Waren let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. When he got off this shift, he would head over to the nearest inn and have a good long pint of ale or maybe two to get his nerves back. 

Just as he was about to turn back around, something glowed from deep between the trees. Waren squinted, trying to make out what it was. The glow moved into a gap revealing it’s source. It was a floating orb of blue light - magic - outlining the shape of a sorcerer. Waren’s mouth went dry and a sudden wave of nausea washed over him. This sorcerer had been there, the entire time, watching him. He thought back to the dagger which had moved so unnaturally fast down the street. That was magic. His dagger felt grimy in his hands and Waren wrinkled his nose in distaste. He could almost feel the sorcerer’s magic staining the hilt. 

The sorcerer’s entire appearance reeked of the corruption of dark magic: he was dressed in a grimy robe which might have once been red, his white hair was nothing but rat-tails, and his entire body was bent into a beastlike shape. In his hands he held a long staff which he used to lope through the undergrowth, unnaturally fast for a man his age. And, from his safe position beyond Camelot’s walls, Waren could just make out his beady eyes, which glowed an unnatural orange. Without turning his eyes away, Waren reached out a trembling hand and shook Gamel awake. 

Gamel stood up with a start, slamming his knees into the table. He grimaced. “What is it?” He asked, clutching his knee. Waren couldn’t find the words to answer so he just pointed a finger at the quickly disappearing figure with the magic orb bobbing along behind him. Sensing his fear, Gamel was alert immediately. He hurled himself across the table and peered through the bars. 

“Well, fuck me,” Gamel said, “I guess we’d better go after him.” 

They opened the gate and walked into the darkness beyond. Waren could no longer see the sorcerer but he could almost feel the magic in the air: the air around him was cloyed with the smell of rot and pressed down, suffocating him. The sorcerer would know they were there, he would turn his glowing eyes on them and wrap his oily magic around them and kill them. The feeling of panic rose up in his gut. Waren’s knees started to shake so violently that he could hardly walk. He was going to lose, he thought. He was going to confront his first sorcerer and he was going to die. 

Gamel stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Now, now, no need to be frightened, boy. We’ll be fine. He’s nothing but an old man.” Gamel said. 

Waren wanted to be reassured, he tried to be. But the feeling of panic was overwhelming and he couldn’t control his breath; his breath was coming out in loud and fast pants. He realised he was hyperventilating. All he could feel was this hot stab of panic and warm tears gathered in his eyes. Gamel sighed. 

“Why don’t ye go back and get us some backup, lad.” He said, giving Waren’s shoulder a squeeze. 

Waren looked back towards the warm glow from the Eastern gate. Although the braver thing to do would be to offer to go after the sorcerer in Gamel’s stead, his chest ached with panic. He could be safe, he could be warm. Waren met Gamel’s eyes and nodded. Gamel gave him a sad but resolute look in return.

“While yer at it,” Gamel told Waren, forcing a smile, “don’t mention I was sleeping on the job, yeah? Got a reputation to uphold.” 

And with that, Gamel turned back to face the woods and jogged into the darkness.

~~~

Flinging himself into the wooden door to the knights quarters without even bothering to try the latch, Waren fell into what looked like a rowdy gathering. Seated around the table were the knights in full armour: Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine mid arm-wrestle and Sir Elyan who was pounding the table, shouting Percival’s name in encouragement. They all quieted at the interruption. Sir Percival pulled his hand away from Sir Gwaine and put it on the hilt of his sword, eying Gamel suspiciously. 

“Can we help you?” Sir Elyan asked.

Waren put his hand on the wall and tried to catch his breath. He had never run so fast in his life. 

“Old sorcerer running - Gamel - guard - going to confront him - alone - Eastern gate,” Waren managed to get out through his gasps, slowly recovering his breath. 

“Well, what did the sorcerer look like?” Sir Gwaine asked.

Waren paused to take a deep breath and managed to calm down. “He was old, unkempt, with long white hair and wearing an old red robe.” He said. 

Sir Elyan’s eyes widened. “Could that be -”

“Dragoon.” Sir Gwaine nodded, sitting forward in his chair, his early ease gone. 

The name echoed ominously across the table for a second. The knights of Camelot were the bravest men in the entire kingdom, but, right now, they looked concerned. Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival gave each other a significant look. It was obvious that these knights had confronted the sorcerer before and left the worse of the two parties. These were a group of knights and Gamel was only a guard and alone. Waren tried to push down the feeling of guilt. Gamel was out there because of Waren’s cowardice. 

The room erupted into activity. Chairs were thrown back from the table, helmets were grabbed from the floor, Gwaine shoved a pair of boots on, and Waren was jostled twice by the knights banging around. As if sensing the urgency, the alarm bells began to chime in the background. 

“Well, come on then, lad,” Sir Gwaine prompted, “take us to them.”

With that, they were all running through the streets of Camelot towards the Eastern Gate. The bells had obviously roused the guards of Camelot as Waren could see the flickering of torches from a group of them jogging along the top of the eastern gate. 

“I don’t understand,” Waren asked the nearby knights as they were running, “who is this Dragoon?”

“An evil sorcerer,” Elyan responded, “He was supposed to be burnt at the stake a year ago but he escaped. He’s committed all kinds of heinous crimes - black love magic, magic against the knights of Camelot, threatening the king -”

“He killed Uther Pendragon,” Gwaine said. 

“That’s supposed to be a secret!” Elyan hissed, hitting him upside the head with his gloved hand.

Gwaine rubbed his head. “This boy should at least know what we’re up against.” 

The knights continued their banter but Waren couldn’t focus on it. The nausea had returned, he had not felt this violently sick in a while. This Dragoon was powerful; Gamel was on a suicide mission and it was all Waren’s fault. 

“Will Gamel be okay?” Waren asked, directing the question at Sir Gwaine. 

Gwaine looked at him with a somber expression but did not respond. 

Once they reached the entrance of the woods, the knights slowed their pace and spread out, keeping their eyes out for tracks. Elyan quietly beckoned them over and pointed out a freshly broken branch. He had found the beginnings of a trail. They followed the trail through the woods.

They heard chanting before they saw anything. It was a language that Waren had never heard before and it sent a chill down his spine. Gwaine met his eyes and nodded, his unspoken question was answered. That was magic. 

They crept closer towards the sound and came to the edge of a clearing, and stayed hidden just in the shadows of the trees around it. 

Waren could make out a couple of bodies lying on the floor. Just at the entrance of the clearing, Gamel was sprawled over some roots, eyes shut. Waren felt a lump growing in his throat. If he was dead, it would have been Waren’s fault for not being braver. Through everything going on, Waren couldn’t help but think of Gamel’s kids. Too young to know the real reason why their papa had not come back. 

The sorcerer was standing in the middle of the clearing, with his staff raised, eyes glowing gold. Across from him, was the Lord Eldred of Northumbria, King Arthur’s special guest. The lord had his hands out in front of him outstretched, as if they would protect him from the sorcerer’s power. The sorcerer aimed his staff at the lord and began shouting in that guttural language. 

“Yup, that’s Dragoon.” Sir Gwaine said, quietly.

A bolt of lightning shot through the sky towards the Lord Eldred, piercing him through the heart. His entire body convulsed and he fell to the ground like a doll. Dragoon nudged his arm with his foot but the man did not stir. Dragoon’s body hunched over; it seemed like a weight had been added to his back. He eyed the fallen body with downcast eyes and looked almost guilty. Waren frowned. He almost felt empathy for a sorcerer. 

He heard a rustling and turned to see Gamel stirring. Waren’s breath escaped him, Gamel wasn’t dead. Gamel staggered upright and pulled out his sword from where it lay wedged between the roots and advanced. Dragoon hadn’t noticed him, fixated on the dead man before him. Waren’s heart thudded. Gamel was going to die, just as easily as the Lord had. He was nothing to this powerful sorcerer. Waren needed to do something. He needed to help. 

Gamel reached Dragoon’s back and raised his sword to strike. He had the upper hand. Waren’s heart soared. Gamel could actually do it, he could kill Dragoon while he was distracted. Dragoons eyes flicked to Gamel and widened in fear. Spinning around to face the guard, Dragoon raised his staff. 

The fear and guilt overwhelmed Waren. He had the strongest urge to protect Gamel, to make things better from before. He would not be a coward this time. Before he knew it, he was running out into the clearing. The sorcerer started shouting. Waren reached Gamel. And a pulse of pure energy radiated from the staff, crashing into Gamel and Waren like a ton of bricks. Everything exploded into light. 

~~~ 

The tavern was at full capacity, the fear of the blood moon drawing all sorts of men and women in for comfort, company, and a full belly. People were sitting on seats, tables, leaning against walls, and even sitting on the floor. No one appeared to be bothered by the alarm bells ringing outside. 

Gwaine had managed to find himself, Percy, and Elyan a table and before they had even started their first pint, the table became crowded with everyone wanting to know what had been going on.

They were all listening, enraptured, to Sir Gwaine’s tale about what happened this evening. 

“This poor lad,” Gwaine said, “must have only been 17. He was terrified, his teeth were chattering the entire way. But he was courageous too. He confronted the sorcerer, Dragoon, with nothing but his dagger to save the life of his fellow guard.” Gwaine paused and took a long swig of his tankard. “It’s always a shame to see such a young life go like that.” 

“Did you catch the bastard?” A woman asked. 

“Do not worry, lovely folk of Camelot,” Gwaine said, “at this very moment, Dragoon the great is deep in the dungeons of Camelot and soon the pyre will be ready for him.” 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is magically exhausted, Arthur is angry, and Gaius is very concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments and kudos so far! 
> 
> For anyone who read the story before I added this chapter, I made a minor edit to the prologue. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy and as always, let me know how I can improve.

Magic crackled in the air. Underneath Merlin’s fingertips, the rock fractured from the force of his power meeting the wild energy below. A slow rumbling started. From deep within the ground, Merlin felt another consciousness touch his. The beast was waking up. It was wild and viscous and smelt of dead rabbit and snow. It hungered. This beast could tear Camelot apart as easily as a butcher skinning a rabbit; if this ancient creature woke up, Merlin would not be able to stop it. He pushed more magic into the earth. 

Layers of coal became diamond and the beast’s mind clouded with sleep. But, the beast fought back with desperate stabs of wild magic. Each stab filled the air with static and sent shocks down Merlin’s spine. It wanted to get to the surface; it wanted to hunt. 

Merlin’s arms shook. They were weaker in his old man’s disguise, his entire body felt frail. He had been close to losing his battle with Lord Eldrand earlier and had barely mustered the energy to escape Camelot’s knights. His vision fuzzed and the rock in front of him was losing its clarity. But, he persisted. His old bones creaked as he slammed his palms against the ground a second time and his eyes shone gold, shooting pulses of power deep into the earth. Letting this beast win was not an option, he would give everything of himself if he had too. 

The ground thundered across the entirety of Camelot. Little children woke up and ran to their parents room’s hiding in their arms, dogs woke up and barked at windows, and the knights of Camelot swung their horses around and galloped to the source of the sound. Still, Merlin persisted, patches of sweat bled through his red robe and his arms strained as if he was holding up the entire earth. He had never extended this much energy before. It was electrifying.

Slowly, underneath the many layers of rock, the creature’s consciousness retreated and the stinging rays of magic began to dissipate. With one more push and Merlin straining his magic as far down as it would go, the beast stopped fighting back. It was gone. 

Merlin released his hands from the ground. He was beyond tired but he had to check if it was actually all over; he extended his mind down into the ground and met the beast’s consciousness one last time. The beast’s mind was grey with sleep. It was done. When the blood moon had risen that night, when he and Gaius had discovered Lord Eldrand and his cult’s plot to wake the beast, Merlin had been warned that the only chance of Camelot’s survival was stopping the spell before the beast woke. When the beast had woken up, Merlin thought that would be the end. But, Merlin had defeated it. 

Merlin slumped on the ground face first. In any other scenario, he would have been thrilled. But he was physically and mentally exhausted that he could not feel anything but tiredness. In a moment, he would find it within himself to get up off the ground, return to Camelot, get immediately into bed, and sleep this all off. But, for now, he’d just lie on the ground for a little while longer. 

Something glinted in the corner of Merlin’s vision. It was a dagger, partially hidden in a patch of long grass. Likely dropped by one of the cultists or mercenaries with Lord Eldrand, Merlin almost ignored it until his eyes fell on the hilt. The sigil of Camelot was inscribed into the leather grip. Merlin’s heart thudded. That was no dagger of a knight of Camelot. They were a lot more ornate with the sigil melded into the steel itself. This was a guard's dagger. 

Merlin thought back to the middle-aged man in armour who had sprung that final attack on him and to the young boy who had run out at the last minute when his magic had struck. He knew they looked familiar. He had thought they were cultists who had managed to survive his first attack. He was wrong. His stomach rolled. They weren’t cultists, they were guards of Camelot - and he had killed them. He suddenly didn’t want to stay in this clearing anymore. 

He pressed his arms to the ground to push himself up when a shadow fell on the rock in front of him. Something cold and sharp dug into the small of his back: a sword. He froze. He tried to summon the energy to get up, tried to summon some magic to push the person and the weapon away. His limbs and magic refused to do anything. He slumped back on the ground, resigning himself as to what would happen next. 

“Dragoon, the great, do not resist. You will be tried for crimes against Camelot.” It was Arthur; he would recognise Arthur’s voice anywhere. 

Warm hands grabbed his and roughly pushed them together behind his back. Despite the scenario, despite his tiredness, a spark of arousal swept through him. These were Arthur’s hands. Arthur’s hands holding his hands. A rough piece of rope tugged his hands together. It was tight - too tight and his paper-thin skin ached from the fabric burn. His head was pulled up by his hair and something damp and sweaty was shoved in his mouth - Arthur’s handkerchief. 

His eyes fluttered shut. He tried to open them; he was in danger. Arthur would be planning a pyre for him at this very second. Not only that, he wouldn’t be able to maintain his old man's disguise forever and he had no idea if it would keep while he was asleep. Arthur would also realise that Merlin was missing pretty quickly. Despite his attempts, his eyes refused to open. It was like a recurring dream he had; he would need to rescue Arthur from bandits but he would not be able to open his eyes no matter how hard he tried. Except, this time, it was not a dream.

He felt himself being hauled up onto something tall and muscular - a horse. And he drifted asleep. 

~~~

Arthur glanced down at the sorcerer’s head slamming up and down against the horse’s shoulder as he cantered towards the castle. The old man would likely develop a headache when he woke up. Arthur supposed he could adjust the sorcerer’s position so his head was resting on Arthur’s thigh or was resting against the horses neck so he didn’t jolt as much.  _ He’s a sorcerer, he doesn’t deserve your concern.  _ Arthur tightened his hands on the reins and pushed the horse on. The sorcerer’s head continued to bounce against the muscled shoulder. 

Gwaine pulled up beside him. “Is he dead yet?” He asked. 

Arthur noted the shallow rising and falling of the sorcerer’s back. “Unfortunately not.” He said. 

“What are you going to do to him?” 

Arthur didn’t know how to answer. He should give the sorcerer a fair trial. That was something he had promised himself when he became king.  _ You saw him use magic to murder, he deserves the pyre.  _ Arthur gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to let the man who killed his father explain himself. The thought hurt. He had trusted this old sorcerer once. He had even considered allowing magic back into the kingdom but then his father had gone cold underneath the sorcerer’s touch. 

“For now, he will be locked in the dungeons.” He said instead.

Gwaine laughed. “Well, good luck with that. It worked out  _ great _ last time.” 

The muscle in Arthur’s cheek jumped and he spurred his horse on leaving Gwaine behind. 

They entered the courtyard. Despite the time, the courtyard was full of guards bustling around with torches and servants loitering around looking for a bit of gossip. On the top of the castle steps, Gaius stood in his night-gown, hair unkempt, and hands folded neatly in front of him. Arthur wasn’t surprised. He knew Gaius felt personally responsible for introducing him to the man who killed his father. Gaius looked at him and then at the body who lay underneath him and jolted. 

Reaching the steps, Arthur yanked the reins and his horse stopped, snorting in protest. The knights stopped behind him.

“Sire,” Gaius said, eying Dragoon, “I heard what happened. Is anyone hurt?” 

“No.” Arthur said, looking behind Gaius to see if he could spot his manservant. Merlin was nowhere to be seen. He was probably at the tavern. 

Gaius’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked pointedly at the sorcerer. 

Arthur swung himself down from the horse and gestured at the knights to carry the old man. “The sorcerer is not your concern.” 

“Wouldn’t it be best if I took a look at him?” Gaius reached forward to touch the sorcerer but Arthur grabbed his arm, stopping him. 

“This man is going straight to Camelot’s dungeons.” 

Gaius kept his arm in place and looked at Arthur, lips pursed - the same look he had given Arthur when he had disappointed Gaius as a young boy. Arthur met his gaze steadily. After a few tense moments of silence, Gaius nodded and withdrew his hand. 

“Very well, Sire.” He said but remained hovering on the bottom step eyes flickering between Arthur, the knights, and the unconscious sorcerer.  _ He’s acting suspiciously _ . Arthur gave Gaius a considering glance. Gaius shoulders were relaxed and he seemed poised as he always did but looking down at his hands half-hidden in his sleeves, Arthur noted the knuckles were bone-white and shaking. 

“That will be all, Gaius.” Arthur said, putting a note of warning into his voice. 

Seeing something in Arthur’s face, Gaius nodded again and retreated back up the steps and into the castle, giving one final lingering glance at the old sorcerer. Arthur would look into why Gaius was acting so suspiciously later but for now he had more pressing things to concern himself with.

Arthur led the way to the dungeons. Guards and servants gave the knights a wide berth as they walked. The knights were thankfully silent and even Gwaine didn’t feel the need to chatter. 

The two guards at the entrance to the dungeons scrambled upright when they saw the king approaching. The one on the left pushed a pile of coins and a pair of dice behind him, unsuccessfully hiding it from Arthur’s gaze. They both bowed. 

“You have a new prisoner to guard.” Arthur said, meeting both of the guard’s eyes in turn. “I need you both on high alert. This prisoner has escaped the dungeons before and I will not have it happen again.” 

One of the guards took a step back and tripped on the table leg. “That’s the sorcerer?” He asked, eyes wide. 

News traveled fast in Camelot; it shouldn’t have surprised Arthur that the guards in the dungeons had heard the news but it did. 

“That’s why you need to be on alert tonight.” He said. 

The two guards glanced at each other and at the sorcerer uneasily but nodded. Satisfied, Arthur strode past them and led his knights into the dungeon. 

“Sire,” Leon said, jogging to catch up, “I can stay down here with the guards tonight.” 

Arthur looked at Leon, contemplating. The guards had done a shoddy job of hiding their gambling dice, and despite his warning, he knew they would immediately get back into the game and down their hidden flasks of mead as soon as he left. If the sorcerer woke up, he would have no problem slipping past them unnoticed. Leon on the other hand, had a keen eye and better senses than the rest of the knights. As soon as a shadow flickered in a place it wasn’t supposed to, Leon would be alert, sword out.  _ Don’t be ridiculous, Arthur, the knights of Camelot should never do lesser tasks. _ Arthur rubbed his face. It would be good to have someone down here he trusted. 

Arthur met Leon’s gaze. “Thank you, Leon.” he said. Leon inclined his head in return.

Arthur let himself relax slightly. He hadn’t realised how much the thought of the sorcerer escaping again had been weighing down on him. With Leon keeping an eye out through the night, it would be a lot harder for the sorcerer to slip away unnoticed. 

They stopped at one of the cells towards the back of the dungeons. The cell was sparse with only a hard straw pallet and a bucket in the corner that still stunk of the previous inhabitant’s piss. Arthur pulled out the ring of keys from his belt, in the muted sounds caused by layers of stone between themselves and the rest of Camelot, they jangled loudly. 

It took a couple of minutes to find the right one and Percival had to shift the old man’s position on his shoulder twice. The right key firmly in Arthur’s hand, he opened the door to the cell and stepped aside to let Percival through. Percival let go of the sorcerer who fell into a heap on the straw pallet. The old man did not even flinch. His arm lay underneath him at a crooked angle and his shock of white hair was spread over the pallet from where he was dropped.

“Maybe you should have let Gaius look at him after all?” Elyan said. 

Arthur didn’t reply but found himself equally concerned. The sorcerer’s face was as grey as a corpse. Maybe they wouldn’t have a sorcerer to put on trial tomorrow after all. If Merlin was here, he would have berated Arthur for not letting Gaius look at the old man. Arthur suddenly longed for Merlin’s company. He would instantly know what Arthur was feeling and cheer him up. When Merlin woke Arthur up tomorrow morning, Arthur would give him the biggest telling off for spending the evening in the tavern. Maybe some stable cleaning would be on the agenda. 

~~~

Gaius pressed his back against the wall and waited, handkerchief stinking of vinegar covering his mouth and nose. In moments the smoke from the lit powder, a recipe similar to dwale made up of Lactucarium, Opium, and Henbane, would fill the dungeons making sure that the guards and Sir Leon passed out. Then, in theory, Gaius would be able to creep by unnoticed. He’d never tried this particular blend of herbs before but he hoped it would cause fewer migraines. 

He counted to thirty in his head, making sure to keep a steady but slow rhythm. When he’d reached 28, he heard a loud clatter. Gaius stopped counting. That sounded like something very heavy in full armour falling against the stone floor. He allowed himself a peak around the corner; Sir Leon and a guard were slumped over the table, eyes shut, whilst the other guard had fallen off his chair and was sprawled out across the entrance of the dungeons. Gaius felt a stab of remorse. That guard would have a nasty bruise the next morning. 

He made his way over, carefully stepping over the fallen guard, and entered the dungeons. He had ten minutes. It should be more than enough. 

Although torches lined the walls to every cell, the dungeons were dark. Gaius had to peer into every cell carefully to make sure it was empty before moving to the next one. There was a man asleep in the first cell, he remembered him as the thief Arthur had imprisoned earlier that week. Other than that, Gaius was surprised to find that the rest of the cells so far were uninhabited. When Uther was king, there had been a constant cycle of suspect sorcerers or petty thieves with their hands and faces pressed against the cell bars crying or begging to be freed. Now, the dungeons were silent. It was eerie. 

At the end of the row of cells, Gaius spotted Merlin. He was so pale and his limbs were bent in odd shapes from where he had obviously been dropped onto the pallet. Gaius rushed forward and pressed his hands to the bars. 

“Oh, my boy,” he said. A strand of white hair lay across Merlin’s face covering his lips. Gaius’s hands ached to reach out and push it aside. Merlin’s hair barely fluttered as he breathed in and out. 

He dropped his satchel of potions, fumbling through until he found the vial of smelling salts. He had found long ago that a combination of peppermint and citrus worked best. He uncorked it and slid it through the bars in the cell. The fumes could wake a bear even at the peak of hibernation; they should have no problem waking Merlin. Yet, Merlin did not stir. 

“Merlin,” he whispered. Merlin remained deathly still. “Merlin,” he repeated. Nothing. Gaius managed to squeeze his arm between two bars and he stretched it out as far as it would go, barely reaching the bottom of Merlin’s foot. He let out a small groan. The position aggravated his arthritis and his elbow throbbed. 

He managed to grab the toe of Merlin’s boot and shook it: Merlin’s body in this form was so light, his entire body quivered with the force. Merlin, however, remained unconscious. 

Gaius looked at his ward with dread. Merlin was completely unresponsive. He only knew of one thing that could cause somebody’s body to react this way: a coma. He’d only ever had one coma patient survive in the last decade, and he had had constant migraines for the rest of his life. Gaius retreated from the cell bars and tried to think. 

There was no blood in Merlin’s hair, and against the white, a patch of red would be easily seen. So, it can’t have been a head injury. Gaius had never smelt a sweetness to Merlin’s sweat, which was also indicative of sudden comas. He had no idea what could have caused this. Except - an old memory sparked from before the purge. Nimueh had attempted to push away the biggest winter storm in a century at only eight years old and failed; she immediately fell into a deep sleep for weeks. She had looked just the same as Merlin did now. 

Gaius tapped his fingers against his leg. He’d need to find a way to remove Merlin from the cell. Then, he would be able to administer the potion which would bring Merlin back to his 20-year old body and let Arthur know that he had been overcome by a sudden disease which had left him unconscious. Gaius nodded to himself; that should work. 

He didn’t have access to the key to this cell: only the king did. That left opening the cell door by other means. Gaius sighed; he hated doing this. He glanced behind him. He knew there would be no-one there, but, after the purge, he had always felt exposed when he was about to use magic. Double and triple checking that he was alone, he found the pool of energy in his mind; after years of disuse, his magic had nearly dried out. He made his way over to the cell door and closed his eyes. He stretched his mind and could briefly make out the internal mechanics of the lock. 

“Aliese,” he whispered, tugging at his magic. His magic sputtered into the lock but fizzled out. He needed more power. He closed his eyes and pulled, gathering as much energy as he could, draining his magic reserves dry. “Aliese,” he said and pushed his magic out. His eyes glowed gold and his magic managed to attach itself to the lock cylinder, and begin to pull it in place. The lock made a grinding noise that echoed through the dungeon. Gaius held his breath; it was working. 

His hold on his magic slipped and the tendril of magic lost it’s hold on the lock. The cylinder fell back into place with a clunk. Gaius stumbled backwards. He would try again. He reached into his mind for his magic to find - nothing. He had used everything he had. If only he practiced more, if only he was not so queasy about magic, then he would have had enough to open the lock. He ground his teeth in frustration. What could he do now? He could not abandon Merlin in this state. 

He rifled through his bag again for something even though he had a mental inventory of everything that was in there. There was the aging spell antidote, extra dwale, revival medication. He had brought tinctures to heal wounds, antiseptics, and even theriac just in case. However, he had nothing that could open the cell door. He had hoped to rely on Merlin for that. 

He looked at the lock. He would try opening it with magic one last time. Pressing his hands to the lock, he closed his eyes and drew at his magic supply. Remembering his teaching from his mentor, he breathed in and out slowly letting his magic collect in his hands. His whole body ached with the strain. 

“Aliese,” he said and his eyes glowed gold. 

The cylinder in the lock twitched and then remained completely still. 

A groan echoed down the dungeons. Gaius jumped, heart thundering. He had lost track of time; the guards were waking up. He had to leave. 

Gathering his things, he took one final glance at Merlin. He was so pale. Gaius ached for his ward but there was nothing he could do for him now. Tomorrow, he would have to deal with the rest of the court. He would do everything he could to delay Arthur from setting up the pyre.


End file.
